


Drabbles from Prompts 7: The Voyage Home

by Lightspeed



Category: Fallout 4, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Being Walked In On, Body Worship, Bullying, Come Inflation, Come Kink, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fights, Ghouls, Guns, Kid Fic, Kissing, Lingerie, Love, Ludicrous Amounts of Come, M/M, Mascots, Masturbation, Medigun Experiments, Multi, Oral Sex, Painting, Public Sex, Revenge, Romance, Sex Swing, Violence, battlefield sex, miniatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prompt drabbles I did earlier this month, collected for your perusal.  Each drabble is listed as a chapter, with its title being the prompter, and notes showing the prompt itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. daskingu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omg, omg okay. How bout Cheavy/Medic? consensual but the dirtiest/nastiest thing you can think of (that's in the boundaries of your comfort zone)

Medic felt sick. So damned sick. Queasy, in not just the typical sense, but a thorough nausea that seemed to come not just from his digestive tract, but his entire being. A soul-deep bilious illness made manifest in the very real discomfort his body was undergoing as he was flooded repeatedly and continually with frankly distressing amounts of semen.

He belched, gurgling a bit around a sound that wasn't quite a moan so much as a plaintive whine. His body jostled back and forth, rocking in the swing that held him suspended above the tiled infirmary floor, where it dipped around a drain. His belly was full, and he had given up trying to figure out just how much come he had swallowed, or how long he had hung there, his head bowed, tongue lolling out, arms and legs bound as Heavy, his new team's Heavy, an older, larger, possibly more dangerous man, rutted endlessly into his stretched and sore asshole.

Heavy had been quite taken with the doctor's handsome self from the beginning. While their opinions on one another's workmanship and ethics were at odds, neither could deny the mutual physical attraction that was very present between them. Nor could they deny their penchant for extreme play, largely thanks to the medical inventions the doctor had been hired because of.

A prototype gun, not ready for field-testing, combined the properties of the Quick-Fix and the Kritzkrieg for very potent results. Having played thoroughly with both guns in the bedroom, the infirmary, several store rooms, and once the helm of their submarine, Heavy could not wait to test this new device. And he did so by deciding to see just what the limits of the good doctor's body were when it came to shoving as much spunk inside of him as humanly possible, and then some.

He thrust deep into Medic's ass, grunting his pleasure and satisfaction, still eager, still aroused, still gleeful in his punishment of his lover's hole after two solid hours of furious fucking. The prototype medigun kept him hard, kept him ready, kept him coming and coming and coming, in volumes no human could produce under any normal circumstance.

Medic's toys never allowed for normal circumstances.

Come circled and dripped through the drain, spilling onto the floor out of Medic's ass with each thrust, his belly already full after having sucked the fat cock that now penetrated him, drinking deep the repeated releases of Heavy, growing sick and overfull. Then, Heavy had moved onto his ass, filling him deeper and deeper with more and more, too much, making him swell in all the wrong places internally in facinatingly terrifying ways, coming so much, so often, that it could no longer fit, spilling out of him in wet, heavy splatters to the tile floor, spurting out around Heavy's cock with each fresh orgasm.

Medic's seed dotted the floor from countless climaxes brought on by his lurid predicament, but he was drained and exhausted, not under the influence of the prototype like his lover, only able to hang there and take Heavy, take his cock, take his loads, over and over, until the older mercenary deemed him fucked thoroughly enough.

The boundless energy afforded by the prototype medigun had him thinking it wouldn't happen any time soon.


	2. tastytexan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh how about some Medic/ Beatrice too? :'D Maybe some worshippy stuff?

Hands, dextrous and delicate, broad and precise—surgeon's hands—danced carefully along thin, stretched skin. In her youth, Pyro must have been the object of every man's affections. Plump, with pleasant, round curves and a soft, chubby belly, her smile just wide enough, just sweet enough, just dangerous enough to entice and allure. She once had two eyes that would bat come-hither, her round face framed by perfectly-coiffed hair. She would slay them with her beauty just before she let her flamethrower do the actual murdering.

These days, she tended to let the flamethrower do the work more often, but even so, she was still an absolute beauty.

Time had been kind to her, and as Medic's hands wandered the rolls of her middle, with their faded stretch marks directing him upward, toward round breasts that dipped toward him, making him want to forego the foreplay and nose in, squishing his face between them.

Pyro gazed down at him, a mixture of superiority and flattery etched in her scarred countenance. Her single eye betrayed the gentleness of her mood, and she tucked a lock of hair behind one burned ear. She was ravishing, muscular and thick, owning every scar and mark that crossed her flesh, her empty socket on display for all to see, and Medic found her utterly tantalizing. Rather than follow the urge to traverse upward to breasts, to lips, he knelt before her, nosing between thick thighs to the crux of a patch of wiry, grey hairs. When his tongue slipped out to part her and tease, she yelped, ticklish, and grabbed hold of his hair, messing it up in warning.

“Don't start anything you can't finish,” she warned, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. He had seen her torture room. He knew exactly what happened to people who angered her, and it thrilled him.

Medic waggled his eyebrows wordlessly, and set to work.


	3. vanyel-or-just-van

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What about something gentle with Pyro? Like, what they do when they aren't on the field?

Pyro took a moment to stare at the swirls of colour curling and curving together and apart in the cup next to him. What had once been a paper cup full of clear, clean water had turned into a greyish slurry of colours weaving in and out of each other. Pinks, seafoam green, baby and sky blues, lavenders, and soft, hard-boiled yolky yellows shimmered with metallic accents in his paint water after what seemed like years but was merely just two hours of intense work.

He dipped his brush and swirled it about, withdrawing it and wiping its wet bristles against a rag made from a piece of an old, cut-up t-shirt Engineer had given him after the last great purge of ruined and useless clothing. Once the brush lacked excess water, he brought the tip up to his lips, pursing them around the bristles to shape it into a fine point. Carefully, he dipped the very end of the bristles into his lightest cotton candy pink paint, already thinned with water, and gathered just enough to make a fine line. He lifted the half-dried pewter model he had been working on, holding the little figure of an orc at its base, and squinted, bringing the thing nearly up to his nose. Bringing brush to model, he held his breath, and with a nervous draw, painted a smooth arc of pink along the orc's pale green brow, giving it a perfect eyebrow.

He exhaled, repeated the movement on the other brow, and after a moment, nodded, setting the model down. The base coat needed to dry, and then, it would be time to shade, wash, highlight and seal. Pyro washed his brush, then turned his attention to the rest of the unit of candy-coloured orcs. They all needed buckles and buttons and teeth and eyes and brows. But first, he suddenly realized he hadn't peed in the past two hours. He set his brush down and dashed away from his painting table.


	4. mbeefluttergut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> write garrette/eugene meeting as children? maybe trying to show off to each other and developing a bit of a crush on each other?

Eugene frowned. When his parents said they were going to another country on holiday, he'd thought it would be fun. Explore, see neat sights, meet new animals, eat new animals, jump on hotel beds! He looked forward to all of the shenanigans a twelve-year-old looks forward to. Instead, it had been museums and fancy cafes and people somehow managing to make smoking—something ranch hands even did—look pretentious. He hated France.

And here they were, at a park of all places. Not even an amusement park, just a regular park! It was lovely, and there was far more grass than he'd seen anywhere else in the city, but running around a park alone while his parents relaxed on a bench, bored and unable to speak to anybody, was not his idea of a holiday.

A scream rang out behind him, and when he turned, he was nearly bowled over by one of the other children running around the grass. He was smaller, but maybe older, and poor from the look of him. His dark hair was messy from what looked like a scuffle, and his dark eyes were wide in panic. He landed atop Eugene as the two went sprawling to the ground, the other child utterly terrified and shocked to have slammed right into a taller kid in his desperation. Behind, a pair of teenagers came to a halt, snickering as their quarry tried to extricate himself from the bundle of limbs he and Eugene had tumbled into. As if a measure of pity, they spat out a few insults in French and headed off, their work apparently done.

When at last Eugene and the mystery boy were able to climb to their feet, the smaller boy began to curse, or so the Aussie assumed, by the tone of his voice. His pretty face was flushed red, possibly from running, more likely from embarrassment. His short, lean frame shook with his heavy breaths. “You alright, mate?” he asked, unsure if his words would have meaning.

The boy blinked a moment, tucking a lock of dark hair behind one ear, and sniffed, almost indigant. “I am okay,” he replied, his accent thick as mud. “I did not see you.”

“Yeah, looked like you had bigger things to worry about,” Eugene chuckled, eyeing the teenagers, who were now off tormenting some other children.

“I had it controlled,” the boy sniffed, offended once he'd parsed what the strange-accented boy had said.

“Oh, yeh, sure looked like it.”

The boy bristled at that. “ _Putain_ , I am not weak!”

“Well,  _pudding_ , or whatever you said, whatever you did to make those two mad, it's a good thing you ran into me. Guess they only pick on little kids when they outnumber 'em.”

“They pick on everyone. I will get them for this.”

“You want help?” Eugene grinned. Maybe this trip might have fun after all.

The boy sized the Australian up. He was tall for his age, and lanky, and for some reason wore a lopsided hat with a wide brim. He seemed like kind of a jerk, but he was the kind of jerk he could get behind. Possibly literally, to get himself out of the line of fire. “What can you do?”

“Got a slingshot.” Eugene tugged the weapon from his pocket and held it up.

A devilish grin spread across the boy's lips. “My name is Garette,” he introduced. “I know a tree to climb for shooting from. I will lead them to you, you shoot them.”

“Eugene,” the Australian nodded. “Let's find a bunch of rocks or acorns for ammo. We'll teach those wankers a lesson.”


	5. anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I request Sniper and Spy with the fluffiest, most encouraging, and we-haven't-done-it-in-a-while-and-I-am-so-totally-in-love-with-you sex?

“It's been too bloody long,” Sniper murmured between kisses, his lips moving against Spy's as he spoke. He couldn't bear to pull further away. Not when Spy was here, and close, desperate to seal their mouths back together, to wrestle his tongue with his own again.

Bodies tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs, cramped in the overcab bunk of Sniper's camper. Neither man particularly minded; it was familiar. They had trysted so many times in that tiny bed, and even more, slept there, curled in each other's embrace, situated just right to find comfort in the closeness of warm skin on cold desert nights. Still more than that were the countless nights they simply lay there, the cherry of a cigarette the only illumination inside the cramped space, cleaving together as they cuddled and conversed, telling stories and joking together, playing with words and one another, laughing and smiling an enjoying one another as much friends as lovers.

“Never again,” Spy replied with a peck to Sniper's lips, his arms around the prone marksman tightening as he picked up his pace, rocking his hips with slightly faster—if still deliciously languid—strokes. They needed one another, and the warmth of Sniper around him, of his body inside and out pressed close, was something to savor after too many nights spent apart, followed by a two-week furlough in which they had been unable to meet. It had been torture; a month without a kind moment between them, and both men had sworn to never leave a holiday uncoordinated again. Neither could bring himself to endure such torment any longer. They were in too deep, too in love for such distance between them.

It was enough to kill one another day-to-day. It was another to do so and never soothe one another with a balm of kisses, caresses, and coitus.

Sniper gasped as Spy found a good angle, arching into his lover and finding his bare throat claimed by the Frenchman's lips and teeth. He could come right now, his chest aching with elation, his body wracked with pleasure, heat and need pouring between them thick and heavy. But he bit down on his lip and staved it off, even as the rogue's belly brushed his cock between them with each movement.

They had vowed never to go alone again, and so he would not come alone either.


	6. teratomarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: what does Sniper think about when he's having a wank?

He'd never understood what it was about that toothy beak, or those furrowed brows, or the striped shirt, but something about him was just something right. And something about Mick was probably very wrong.

It had begun when he was a young lad, just learning his body and the fun diversions one could have using it, and then promptly spending too much of his free time doing exactly that. Once the novelty of simply playing his skin flute had calmed a bit, he found himself craving stimuli, something to look at or fantasize about. There was precious little of that in the middle of nowhere.

He tried thinking about women. The pretty ladies on the telly or the sexy ones in the magazines his dad kept hidden under the mattress and didn't think Mick knew about. It hadn't worked very well. He tried thinking about men. Handsome musicians or the rough, strong ranch hands his family employed when the ewes were all having their lambs every year and they needed a few extra men on deck. That had been a little better, but soon bored the hormonal young man.

Then, one warm Australia night, his mind had wandered while he was idly touching himself. To-do lists, school work, a song caught in his head, and the football match he had watched earlier. That's when he had drifted into Mick's mind: Claude Crow, or “Curls”, as he was nicknamed. He was the mascot for the Adelaide Crows, a muscular humanoid bird with a big grin and big guns and long, long legs. A man in a suit, of course, but maybe that was what helped it. The thought had taken him to the edge before he even knew it, and left the young man with so very many questions.

Sniper lounged in his bunk, the nights too cold to enjoy the solidude of his camper. All the same, a bed was a bed, and privacy was enough. It wasn't like he was particularly loud. He regretted leaving the small smattering of pictures he kept in the van, though. Laying back, he stroked himself, his cock hot in his hand, hard, and thrumming with pleasant sensation with each pass of his calloused hand. He drew his legs up, planting his heels on the footboard of the bed and sank a hand between his thighs. A lube-slick finger circled his hole. He breathed deep, eyes closed as he tried to summon up thoughts and urge himself along.

He saw black feathers, a looming, lanky footballer's figure kneeling over him. He could see his own thin, hairy legs spread as the great bird-man knelt between them, gripping his hip in one hand-tipped wing as the other angled himself for entry. Red eyes looked down on him with lust, a too-pliant beak curling into a smirk, showing inexplicable teeth. In his mind's eye, their clothes were piled on the floor, his own uniform beside the striped footballer's uniform of the crow's. He pushed his finger inside of himself in time with his mental lover's avian cock, probably strange and pointed and inhuman. He gasped, his jaw falling open, his hand speeding over his cock as he probed his ass slowly.

“Claude,” he whispered, begging his mental lover, this athletic bird-man, to take him.

“So who is Claude?” Spy asked, lighting a cigarette.

Sniper's eyes snapped open and his body went tense, yanking his hand away from his ass and cupping both over his crotch, sitting bolt upright in horror. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOIN' IN 'ERE?!”

The Aussie's teammate chuckled and exhaled a plume of smoke, shaking his head. “You left your door unlocked. I had meant to ask you a question, but frankly, I neither remember it, nor care. So, who is Claude, mon ami?”

“Get out of my room!” Sniper barked, outraged and red-faced.

“Fine, fine, but it is your own fault. I do hope you practice better security with that van of yours.”

“Out!”

“I am going,” Spy chuckled, slipping out the door. “You and Claude have a lovely time!”


	7. erikonil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy/CHeavy, grudging respect while sizing each other up for a fight

So here he was. The upstart who had taken his title when his contract had run out. Heavy'd always wondered what sort of shallow imitation could possibly claim such a lofty position once he'd finished his tour in the Gravel War. He was definitely no slouch; having cut his way through Gray's robot leeches like a machete through the bush, his minigun spinning down now that his friends were safe. But now he set down his gun, seeing his opponent seemingly unarmed, and stared him down with narrowed, ice-blue eyes. Heavy smirked, getting a good look at the hulking Russian that Redmond had hired after Blutarch had lost the services of himself and his team. He was impressed.

“You're pretty good,” Heavy said, almost dismissively, as he slowly began his approach. A leisurely stroll, really, to taunt his opponent with his casual attitude.

“Pretty good,” Misha grunted with a light chuckle. He cracked his neck and then his knuckles, striding forward to meet the man. For a mercenary his age, having served in the thirties, he was terribly well put-together. Still strong, still broad, still defined and with no slouch to his spine, the grey-haired weapons specialist looked less an old man and more a weather-beaten side of beef. It was difficult to read him with his eyes hidden behind those goggles, but his body language was clear: he thought he had the advantage. Even after having all of his robots ventilated and destroyed, he was entirely cocksure, perhaps even moreso now that their battle looked to be a one-on-one hand-to-hand encounter.

Each man nodded, taking up stances. Fists raised, fingers tingling, they grinned, circled, and swung.


	8. thegreenpact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maccready x m!ss: that toy soldier ends up in somebody's butt. alternatively, since thats kind of not nice to the memory of his wife, mac one-shot-kills a glowing one, and it gets either him or ss so hot they need to fuck RIGHT NOW

They didn't stop coming. They never stopped coming. So many, gurling, growling, hissing as they dashed and leapt and swung and bit. MacCready's ears rung with each crack of gunfire in the narrow tunnels of the subway station. His rifle kicked with every shot, bruising his chest, stealing his wind, letting fly with .50 calibre death. He ducked behind a bench to dodge the leap of a frothing roamer, scrambling to reload, his hands shaking as he swapped magazines. The ghoul rolled on the tiled floor, skin slapping wetly where it landed. It scrabbled at the floor, fighting to its feet, white-glazed eyes fixed firmly on the terrified mercenary.

“RJ!” Two comparatively quiet clicks preceded two bullets boring through the ghoul's chest, and the thing sank to the floor, no longer moving. MacCready breathed a sigh of relief, tilting up onto one knee to see Elias standing not far away, lowering his silenced pistol with a smile, glad to see he was alright.

“Thanks, cowboy.”

The ex-soldier grinned at the pet name and flipped the safety on before spinning the 10mm pistol around one finger and feigning holstering it. “Says the fancy shooter himself. Let's get a move-on. Those settlers said there were raiders deeper in these tunnels, and if we don't clear them out for the ladies at Oberland, nobody will.”

“Unless Preston gets off his butt and does it himself for once. Or The General actually delegates these sorts of things to his troops,” MacCready laughed, climbing to his feet.

“But then what would I do when I need to take a long detour from actually getting things done?”

“You could do me,” MacCready replied with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Mm, I could.”

Green suddenly filled the mercenary's vision, a bright glow streaming through the windows of the broken down subway train behind Elias. The tottering, sprinting shape of a glowing one emerged from the open door of the train, lighting up the darkened platform and casting Elias' face in shadows. It rasped out a snarl, raising its arms to swing, baring its teeth to bite, and launched itself at the surprised vault dweller, whose eyes went wide in horror without time to properly react. The geiger counter on his pip-boy crackled and screamed.

A bang filled the subway, loud and sharp, followed by a moist thud, and the end of the horrible light. MacCready's heart nearly beat out of his chest, his hands white-knuckled where he held his rifle, looking down the sights long after a single half-inch diameter round had pierced the glowing one's forehead directly between its eyebrows and exited messily out of the back of its skull, blowing gore all over the tile and train. He gasped a breath and lowered his rifle, watching as Elias turned, saw the dead ghoul, registered what had happened, and turned back to the mercenary.

Before MacCready could react he'd vaulted the bench and pressed him against the grimy subway wall, guns clattering to the floor, lips on his, tongue pushing into his mouth, hands slipping under his shirt as their bodies collided.

By the time they had slid to the floor, MacCready's pants were already off, Elias' already shimmied halfway down his legs. The ex-soldier pushed his lover's shirt up, clamping his lips down over his nipple and biting down lightly, groaning at the mercenary's answering gasp and arch of his back. He stroked MacCready's cock, making him writhe beneath him, his own erection hot and hard against the smaller man's hip. His free hand rooted around in his coat for the bottle of cooking oil he had found in a suitcase on the upper floor of the terminal, and when he found it, he knelt up to unscrew the cap, letting MacCready catch his breath.

“You're serious? Here? Now? There're ghoul corpses everywhere!”

“I have never been more turned on than I am right now,” Elias growled, dipping his fingers into the open bottle.

“Fuck,” the mercenary cursed, breathless. He reached for the dropped guns, taking up Elias' pistol and flipping the safety off, lifting his legs for his lover. “Alright, but I don't know how good a shot I'll be if a ghoul runs up on us while you're balls-deep in me.”

Elias seemed only encouraged by that thought. “We might just find out.” He pressed his oil-slick fingers to MacCready's hole.


	9. thegreenpact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heavy/scout, heavy and scout take cover behind a half wall, ends with scout crouching behind said wall to give heavy head while heavy uses sascha to defend the last point

The hail of gunfire had slowed, and with trepidation, Scout peeked up from where he and Heavy had crouched. Medic had caught an arrow to the eye midway through their push, dropping the uber he'd saved for Heavy to thwart the BLU team's offense and bottleneck them on their way to the point, leaving the Russian stuck taking cover from what had been an onslaught of explosives and bullets thrown in his direction. Scout had fared no better, hoping to use the opening they were planning to create to speed his way behind enemy lines and seek out their entrenched soft targets, like their Engineer and Sniper, and helping Spy, who had radioed being unable to shake the dogged pursuit of the BLU Pyro. He, too, was stuck taking cover behind a crumbling cement wall, smiling wincingly up at his boyfriend, who looked utterly annoyed to be stuck in such a vulnerable position, even if the company was pleasant.

A blue dot darted to and fro down the path leading to the point, several splatters of blood and brains marking dirt and walls. Sniper had thinned the lines, buying them time to mount a defence. Some defence that would be: a Heavy and a Scout. One build for defence, the other completely ill-equipped for it.

“You're clear. Spin Sascha up an' you could play shootin' gallery alongside Snipes until Doc gets back,” Scout reported, climbing back down to his knees and giving his lover a nod.

“Good. You stay down until he come. Will need backup to get you through. They will choke approach and you will not make it far.”

“So what should I do in the meantime?”

“Do not know. Give morale support?” Heavy teased with a smile. He pecked Scout with a kiss and then stood, bringing Sascha to bear and setting her barrel to spinning.

Scout sat there on his heels for a moment, feeling sour, until a devilish thought crossed his mind. He could be very supportive on his knees.

Heavy let loose with a few rounds, chasing the enemy Soldier back into hiding, waiting for any BLUs to try and test his aim. To his surprise, an assault came from below, as nimble hands unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He looked down, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“Providin' morale support,” Scout grinned, reaching into the giant's pants and pulling his cock out with a dreamy look on his face. “I figure, what's better for morale than a blowjob?”

“In middle of battle?”

“Yeah.”

“Waiting for backup at any moment?”

“Mmhmm.” Scout nuzzled at the giant's flaccid cock for a moment before beginning to gently lip at it, mouthing at the tip and letting his tongue slip beneath his foreskin.

Heavy stiffened with a gasp and squeezed the trigger, daring any BLUs to show themselves. A flush spread across his cheeks as Scout urged his foreskin back and took him into his mouth, a soft moan leaving the athlete's throat as he felt Heavy begin to harden against his too-soft tongue. The heat, the wet, that skilled mouth went to work on him, and Heavy grit his teeth, puffing breaths through his flared nostrils as Scout blew him, his head mere inches away from the massive gun he held, her barrels spinning, shots firing every so often to keep the enemy at bay.

As the BLUs began to test the approach more frequently and Scout's head began to bob, he choked back a moan, wondering whether he or Sascha would empty their payload first.


	10. thegreenpact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> puwtb: heavy and medic return to their shared quarters after a hard day to find scout lounging on their bed in a sheer nightie. established relationship or not, your choice.

“Am tired. Will sleep like I am dead, I think,” Heavy yawned, stretching as he walked.

Medic nodded in agreement, a wordless grunt leaving him as he and his lover headed back to their shared quarters. The battle that day had been a grueling, exhausting mess. Storms had dumped flash floodwaters on the field, turning the dry dust of the gravel pits into a muddy slurry that hampered movement and crusted skin, seeping into every crevice. It had taken a solid half hour of washing for each man to get clean after the battle, and from there the fatigue had only grown as they had to clean out and maintenance their equipment, clean their boots, launder every piece of clothing they had worn, and then still attend to their various duties in the evening and have dinner. All either man wanted to do now that they had a warm meal in their bellies was crawl into bed and sleep it all away, hoping the morning would be kinder to them.

When they came to their quarters, however, they found the door slightly cracked, something neither man would be careless enough to do. They shared a look of concern, and so Heavy opened the door, entering the room first with Medic hot on his heels. Neither man was prepared for the sight that greeted them.

Their bed was occupied. Long, muscular legs tipped with small, delicate feet ran up to a pair of bony hips and a narrow torso, with broad shoulders and gangly, sinewy arms. Wrapped in black, sheer lace, Scout laid on his belly atop their sheets, reading a magazine casually. The curve of his ass, round and lovely from squats and running, was covered in a pair of panties that did absolutely nothing to actually hide that which they covered, completely sheer save for lace designs around the waist and leg holes. His legs were clad thigh-high in black stockings, and a nightie, with frills around the bottom of its too-short skirt and lacy staps, hung from his shoulders and strained from where it was trapped under him as he lay. Scout looked up at the two men, almost surprised to see they had finally arrived, and closed his magazine—some sort of bodybuilding rag that was very clearly poorly disguised pornography, filched from Medic's collection under the bed.

“Bout time you two got here. I been waitin' so long I got bored and started re-thinkin' doin' this,” Scout teased, then rolled onto his back to show off the way the nightie fell over the flat expanse of his belly, and the way the panties hugged every last curve of the cock and balls they tried to contain. He was hard, likely from his reading material in combination with his outfit, and he strained against the panties fetchingly.

“What—what is this?” Heavy asked, dumbfounded. Scout was laying in their bed, practically naked for all that the frilly lingerie actually hid, waiting for them.

“Ain't it obvious? I wanna screw,” Scout shrugged, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Well, specifically, I want you guys to screw me, yanno? If you ain't too tired.”

Medic and Heavy shared a look, silence stretching between them for a long moment before the doctor closed the door behind them and began to undo his tie. “I think we might have enough energy left in us for one last workout. Don't you agree, Schatz?”  
“Let us get dirty one more time today,” Heavy grinned.


End file.
